


Spilt Milk

by museme87



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-17
Updated: 2011-01-17
Packaged: 2017-10-14 20:45:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/153283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/museme87/pseuds/museme87
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gone were their boyhood dreams of grandeur as harsh reality was ushered in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spilt Milk

**Author's Note:**

> Written for mwpp_mischief's Marauding Mishaps and Happenings 2010 fest at LJ. Thanks to L for the beta.
> 
> Warnings: Alternate universe

Ironically enough, it's the puddle of split milk on the kitchen floor that makes Sirius' throat tighten. The kitchen is a disaster area—hell, the whole fucking house is a disaster area. In fact, _he's_ a fucking disaster area, if a person can even be such a thing.

Sirius can't remember what day it is, only that it's early November 1981. He doesn't remember when he ate last either. Or when he bathed. Or when he saw the outside of this flat. Or when he got more than one sodding hour of sleep. The meshing together of hours and days cripples him mentally and physically, and Sirius wonders when it's going to get easier.

Leaning against the wall, he lets his body slip down to the floor as he closes his eyes. For a moment, Sirius thinks he hears Harry fussing in his bedroom, and he lets the back of his head hit the wall in one dull, aching _thud_ at the thought of his godson's stirring. In silence he sits, listening closely for a moment until it's obvious that he is simply hearing things. Sirius doesn't know how much longer he can continue on like this, but he has to _try_ for Harry's sake.

He's not sure what exactly is happening with Harry or how to make it better. The Healers at St. Mungo's assured him that the only thing physically wrong with the little boy was a cold and that he would be perfectly fine with some rest. Rest is a scarce commodity in this flat though.

What makes matters worse is that Sirius knows Harry wants his mum. He's sick, and all children want their mums when they're not feeling well. Hell, even he did as a sprog and Walburga is a fucking lunatic, which says something. Sirius can't give him his mum though—a fact that torments him beyond measure. Lily is…well, she's not here anymore, and Sirius is a miserable substitute.

When Sirius has the courage to open his eyes again, he takes in the sight of his once immaculate kitchen and nearly cries. The sink is piled high with dishes; two pots sit on the stove containing interrupted attempts at dinner, or lunch, or maybe even breakfast. Sirius can't be sure. From the floor, he counts three bottles in varying states of emptiness, one overflowing rubbish bin, a scattering of cereal on the floor, and Harry's barely eaten sandwich from earlier. And that was just the kitchen. He didn't dare think of the state of the living room; he would really be crying then.

It's an easy enough fix—a swish there, a flick here—but in his perpetual exhaustion, Sirius thinks he'll likely blow something up rather than do anything to improve the situation. He managed to accidently turn on the shower while levitating Harry's wet nappy to the laundry pile earlier. And there was that incident where he literally froze Harry's soup trying to cast a Cooling Charm on it. And that time during his fourth night of restless sleep when he heard Harry cry and involuntarily shattered the bedside table lamp. Sirius hates doing things the Muggle way, but it's quickly getting to the point where it will create less of a mess if he stops with the magic.

A smart rap on the door jolts Sirius from his musings on the dismal situation of his flat. If it weren't for the fact that he spent the last several days listening for even the smallest peep from Harry, Sirius wouldn't have heard the gentle knock. For a moment, he toys with the idea of not answering it at all. The linoleum floor is surprisingly comfortable in his sleep deprived state. However, the knocker could become persistent, and Sirius doesn't particularly feel up to murdering someone tonight for waking his godson.

He walks to the door as quickly as he can manage—his back sore and his head pounding—and what he finds on the other side floors him.

Remus.

They last saw each other four months previously, and Remus looks a bit different now. His hair is too long, his expression too sweet. He's considerably well put together, telling Sirius that he's been both living in moderate comfort and among civilization recently. Sirius—vain despite his exhaustion—thinks how he must look to his ex-boyfriend and almost flushes with embarrassment.

A whole minute passes as the pair stand in silence, Remus worrying his bottom lip and Sirius trying to process everything with his sluggish brain. It's only when Remus holds out a paper bag for him to take that Sirius thinks to say something.

"What's this?" he asks, taking it from Remus' arms.

"I just got into town earlier this evening. Albus told me what happened," Remus explains solemnly, and for the first time Sirius notices his red-rimmed eyes. "I thought you could use those."

Sirius takes a quick look in the bag and sees a package of chocolate shortbread biscuits and a bag of salt and vinegar crisps—his normal comfort food when he's in a bout of depression. He can't help but feel touched by the gesture.

"You remembered."

Remus grins softly. "Of course I remembered. We were toge… We've known each other for years."

It's a struggle, but Sirius tries to ignore the mention of their four-year-long relationship that ended explosively. He thinks he's moved on; they've been apart for nearly a year now, after all. And he's…surviving. Barely, but surviving all the same. If spending this past year alone has taught him anything, it's that he doesn't need Remus to keep on living like he once thought he did. But seeing him standing right there, the urge to reach out for Remus overwhelms Sirius.

Sirius steps out of the doorway. "Do you want to come in?"

"Oh, yeah. Thanks."

Once Remus is inside, Sirius locks the door again. He turns to apologize for the mess, but judging from Remus' raised eyebrows, he's already seen it. Sirius doesn't know what to say to reassure him that he has everything under control and gives up the effort quickly. Remus wouldn't buy his lies anyway.

"If you can find the sofa, you're more than welcome to sit."

"Sirius," he sighs, his voice pained.

Sirius shrugs by way of explanation. It is what it is. Yes, he's coming undone. Yes, he's hanging on by a thread. But this is Remus, who knows him well enough that he's not embarrassed by Remus witnessing his life in shambles.

Sirius turns away long enough to open both the crisps and biscuits and grab some of each. When he turns back around, Remus is standing in front of what was formerly _their_ sofa—Remus picked it out when they first moved into the flat—that is now covered in two piles Harry's freshly laundered clothes and several boxes yet to be unpacked. Remus takes a small, white shirt—the Montrose Magpies shirt that James bought for Harry last Christmas, Sirius thinks with a pang in his heart—and begins to fold it.

"Moony, you don't have to do that."

"Yes, I do."

"Really, I—"

"You what? You're getting along fine?" he offers testily. "Sirius, you have a giant spaghetti sauce stain—"

Sirius looks down at his shirt and winces. "Tomato soup, actually. From yesterday."

"Alright, a giant tomato soup stain on your shirt. It looks like you haven't shaved in at least two days. You're wearing two different colored socks. And the dark circles under your eyes make you look like you've been punched. You're anything but fine."

"I know," Sirius sighs, before shoving a crisp into his mouth miserably. "But still, you couldn't have come all this way to fold Harry's laundry."

"I'm here because I want to be. And if you need my help—which you obviously do—why shouldn't I give you a hand? So let me, please."

His anxiety quickly escalating, Sirius shoves several crisps in his mouth at once. "But this is my responsibility."

"Keeping you together has always been _my_ responsibility." Remus diverts his eyes. "I can't stand to see you like this, Sirius. You're too important to me. You and Harry both."

His insides twist uncomfortably with the word "important", and he wonders what it means exactly. Sirius bites back a desperate "I love you". Instead, he tries to think of the girl he was supposed to meet last night for a date—the one with brown eyes not quite as pretty as Remus', and hands not quite as gorgeous as Remus', and a laugh that doesn't make his heart soar like Remus' does.

Remus has become his standard, and no one yet has been able to hold a candle to him. Sirius knows he never deserved him, and that idea is only reaffirmed as Remus is standing in his living room, folding his godson's clothes and bringing him comfort food despite all the pain they've caused each other.

"We've lost too much this week. Please don't fight me over this one little thing," Remus says softly.

His heart pangs. Sirius doesn't want to think about all he's lost. He's hardly had the time to process any of it, and when he does, he wants to do it in the privacy of his room so he can get it all out at once. Perhaps with one long, hard cry, he can rid himself of this horrible pain in his chest—the hole that James and Lily left.

"Yeah, okay," he mutters, voice hoarse.

Throwing a tiny pair of denims over his shoulder, Remus frowns and takes several steps in Sirius' direction. Sirius rubs his heavy, burning eyelids with his hands, and before he knows it, Remus' arms wrap around him. Sirius lets his own arms do the same, pulling Remus tightly against him.

Sirius rests his cheek against the side of Remus' head and wills his body to relax. This is as scary as hell though, embracing Remus after all this time. It feels so good, so _right_ , especially when Remus runs his fingers through Sirius' black locks soothingly.

"What happened to your hair?"

"Cut it a couple days ago," Sirius explains, grateful for the change in subject.

"Yourself?"

Sirius nods. "That obvious, huh?"

"It's rather short and really uneven."

"For three days straight Harry wouldn't let me put him down after it happened. Just kept crying and crying and crying. Screaming for his mum and dad." Sirius swallows hard with the memory. "He kept pulling on it, so I got fed up and chopped it off one night." Sirius shakes his head. "I was so wrong about him."

Remus pulls back just enough to look at him. "What do you mean?"

"All those times I called him a 'big boy'…" Sirius pauses and wipes the wetness from his eyelids. "He's just a baby, Moony. He needs me for everything. And I'm complete rubbish at it."

"You're doing the best that you can. That's all anyone case ask of you."

"And what if it's not good enough? I mean, bloody hell, _look_ at me."

Remus brings his fingers to a stray lock of Sirius' hair and pushes it back behind his ear, but it's too short to stay in place for long. Rubbing his thumb across Sirius' cheek, Remus smiles weakly. Sirius leans into the touch, and it's all he can do to fight back a sigh and the closing of his eyes.

"We can fix you."

Sirius chuckles at the absurdity of the statement. "I think I'm beyond fixing, honestly."

"That's a matter of opinion." Remus bends down slightly, enough to look into Sirius' downcast eyes. "Will you let me?"

Sirius isn't sure if he wants Remus' help, but he's quite certain he doesn't want Remus to leave just yet. It's blissful being touched by him again. Sirius knows that nothing will come of it, but just for a bit, it could be fun to pretend that this past year didn't happen, that he and Remus were still young and madly in love with each other. That seems like such a long time ago now.

"What are you going to do with me?"

"First, I'm going to trim your hair back into shape. You'll never pull as it is. And then, I'm going to make you shave, followed promptly by a change into pajamas, and a good night's sleep."

Shaving? Clean clothes? Sleep? Fuck does that sound brilliant.

"Keep talking, Moony. You're making me hard here."

"And maybe, just maybe, I'll make you a proper meal while I'm at it," he teases.

Sirius gives a fake, little moan. "Oh, love, you don't know what you do to me."

They both laugh. And, it's a testament to what they share—or _shared_ , Sirius corrects—that the two of them can even enjoy themselves for a moment in the middle of all this ruin. This is how it's always been though, he thinks. Remus has always found a way to right his world again—after he was sorted into Gryffindor, after he was forced into that betrothal, after he left that fucking house. He knows just what to say, just what to do, and Sirius isn't sure how he ever got along without him.

But looking at Remus now, it brings to mind now-tainted memories, memories of pub crawls and pranks, of hopes and dreams. Sirius tries to avoid thoughts of their fallen Marauder. Quite frankly, it's hard for him to even accept him as gone. James always believed himself immortal, and Sirius bought into it because he’d believed it wholly, if not more than James himself.

Sirius wonders if Remus thinks of Lily the same way he thinks of James. They were always so close, brought closer together by their place in this war and their relationships with him and James. Sirius can only guess that the hole in Remus' heart is just as big as his, but Remus has always been brilliant at bottling up his real feelings. But this, they should share. Sirius wants to know because Remus is the only person who understands the level of his sorrow.

"Moony—"

"You. Bathroom. Now," Remus orders, cuffing him on the shoulder.

~*~

Sirius hates to see the scissors chopping away at his hair, but he supposes it's his own fault really. Sitting on a kitchen chair, he watches the progressive shortening of his thick, black locks and thinks that it hasn't been this short since fourth year when he initially began to grow it out. His hand wanders to touch the tips at the nape of his neck, but Remus is quick to swat it away.

"I can't make sure I'm getting the length even with your hand there," he scolds.

His eyes watch Remus' every move and studies his face. There is a new scar near his ear, and Sirius nearly inquires about it before thinking better of it. There's no sense in bringing up the past, of acknowledging that there was a time when he wasn't there for Remus when Remus needed him the most. Sirius starts to see a running theme in his life as of late.

"It wasn't supposed to be like this, you know."

Remus looks up from his trimming, staring at Sirius in the mirror. "Your hair?"

"No, us."

"You and I?"

Well yes, that too. Sirius always imagined that he and Moony would grow old together from the very beginning; they just had that sort of chemistry. But no, Sirius wasn't specifically talking about the two of them.

"The five of us," Sirius clarifies. "We were made for something greater than the lives we're leading now."

Remus brushes off a few stray clips of hair from Sirius' shoulders and jokes, "Like cursebreaking in Egypt?"

"Oi, that was a legitimate plan! At least until I fell in love with your sorry arse."

"I'm sorry for ruining your plans then," Remus says, with a level of self-blame that only he can really manage. "It's not like anything good ever came of us. A real waste when you think about it."

"Oh hell, Moony, I didn't mean it like that."

Placing the scissors on the sink, Remus pulls the towel from around Sirius' shoulders, effectively telling Sirius he is finished with the cut. Remus won't look him in the eye though, and Sirius wonders how he's ever going to make Remus understand that those weren't his intentions.

He's terribly touchy tonight, as much as he tries to hide it. Sirius wants to tell him to just come out with it, tell him all he's feeling. Sirius is feeling so much that he can barely process it all, and he really would love nothing more than to get some of this off of his chest. Remus, however, is doing what he does best—avoiding by way of running.

Sirius is quick to take Remus by the arm before he can escape the bathroom, or even the flat entirely. He can't leave without knowing that, at the very least, Sirius doesn't see things that way, that their relationship was everything to him and that he's glad he didn't become a cursebreaker.

"It wasn't a waste, Remus. Or at least, I didn't think it was a waste. In fact, I think it was brilliant."

Remus' tense body relaxes, and Sirius feels it's safe to relax his hand around Remus' arm. Apparently Remus didn't need to hear much in the way of apologies to stop running. And, Sirius shouldn't have been surprised. The amount of insecurity that boy harbored would have driven Sirius mad if he'd suffered it. A little well worded reassurance, however, always did wonders.

"Take your shirt off," Remus commands, his tone exasperated.

While he's not sure where Remus is going with this, he obeys. Call it a reflex from all those years of, "On your knees, Sirius" or "Harder, love" or "Don't stop". After he pulls the white tee over his head, Remus reaches out to take it from him, avoiding his eyes entirely but seemingly entranced by Sirius' now naked torso.

"Do you really mean that?" Remus asks, swallowing hard.

"That I don't regret us? Fuck, love, how could I?"

"You were there, Sirius. All we did was argue with each other when we weren't completely silent. Hell, we _tried_ to wind each other up after a point. Like we were just trying to get any emotion out of each other. You even went so far as to—"

"I remember what I did."

"And then I—"

"I remember what you did too. I walked in on you, remember?"

"So how can you tell me that you don't regret giving up your dreams for that fucking mess?"

Sirius wants to explain it all to Remus, but he doesn't know how to do that. Despite what his ex-boyfriend wants to believe, there was a lot of good that came from those four years. Remus made him feel alive, feel wanted, feel _loved_ for the first time in his life. Sirius knows he was smitten—or whipped, as James so often enjoyed pointing out—but how could he not be when he'd been so lucky to find this perfect person?

He can't tell Remus any of that though. Because if he did, it would sound like he is still in love with him. And that's a ridiculous notion. And terribly untrue. And he's _moved on_ for fuck's sake. Or at least he thinks he has. But maybe not. But he can't possibly analyze his feelings right now when his best friend just died and his godson is sick and he's scrambling to get his shit together. So he pushes those thoughts away. Better to play it like he's indifferent.

Sirius shrugs. "Hey, at least the sex was good."

"The sex was empty."

"You didn't seem to mind when I was putting it to you," Sirius says bitterly before he can really think. Remus' words stung him.

"Alright, I'm going," Remus says, annoyed but perhaps trying to avoid a bigger argument.

Sirius throws his arms up. "Just like that?"

"Explain to me why I would want to stay to hear you blame everything on me. It's not all my doing, Sirius. You're the one who kissed that girl. _You're_ the one who didn't want to work through it."

"I caught you shagging someone in _our_ bed. Forgive me for not feeling particularly conversational at the time."

"I only did it to make you feel how I felt when you were practically groping that stupid girl at that club!"

Remus looks at him for the first time since they started this horrible conversation, and Sirius sees the pain in his eyes—the pain that _he's_ caused. Or maybe it's not that pain at all. Maybe it's their shared pain, their shared loss.

Sirius didn't really want to hash out that old argument, but he did want to be rid of some of these horrible feelings that have been building up inside of him for the past week. So he picked the fight, got angry over something that he's come to accept, just so he can let go. But now he's at the point where he needs to shift the topic to what all this frustration is really about.

"James is dead," he states simply, and Remus pauses in the doorway. "My life is in shambles. A week ago I was an entirely different person—picking up girls, having meaningless shags, fighting a war because I didn't know what else to do. And now look at me, Remus: I'm a single father barely managing to keep both me and Harry alive. I can't do this."

His voice cracks on those last words, as if by somehow saying them he's actualized the futility of the situation. But it does feel good to finally get it out. Blinking back tears, he watches Remus for any sign that he's gotten through to him, or at the very least he doesn't hate him for their argument. Remus' response to his words, however, are more than he could have ever thought possible. Remus, the one who never cries, is fighting off his own tears.

"Please don't say that about James. I can't…I know what's happened. But, Sirius, I don't want to hear it."

"Because then it's real," he states.

"Because then it's real," Remus echoes.

They say nothing for what feels like forever. In fact, Sirius isn't even certain there is anything to _be_ said. James and Lily are dead. Harry's an orphan. Sirius is his parent. Remus is as lost as he's always been, searching for a place that he may never find. The facts strike him like a hammer to his gut, but there's no way to stop it.

Remus stares at the shirt still in his hands, rubbing the stained patch between his fingers. He sniffs, as if trying to prevent any further tears, and smiles a watery, miserable smile.

"It's going to take nothing short of the Dark Arts to get this stain out."

And it's not about the stain, Sirius knows that. It's about something else entirely that's happening within Remus. He's working through something, and Sirius wants to know what it is. Maybe it can help him as well.

"Remus?"

Remus glances upwards, and something transpires between them that Sirius struggles to describe. It's a sort of acceptance, he thinks. James and Lily are gone, Peter is a fucking traitor, and all they have is each other. And for two people–two former lovers–to realize this sparks a flame they thought to be dying. With a mutual understanding, they both move to meet the other half way.

As soon as Sirius gets his hands on Remus' bony hips, he presses him against the wall and leans down to capture him in one long, slow, sensual kiss. It feels both so wrong and so wonderful that Sirius doesn't know what to make of it, but it's searing him to the core.

Remus' fingers wind themselves into Sirius' short hair and tug in that oh-so-familiar way. Urged on by the pulling, Sirius pins Remus tightly between the wall and his body, moving against him with every small shift in their kiss. Sirius swallows Remus' moan as their cocks, half-hard, brush against each other. And suddenly Remus' arms are traveling along his neck, over his shoulders, and down his chest, pausing at Sirius' nipples and rubbing his calloused thumbs over the already tight nubs.

Not expecting that, Sirius jumps back immediately and rests his arse against the sink, trying to catch his breath, eyes still locked on Remus. When he manages to breath again, he drinks in Remus who looks deliciously well-kissed.

"I'm sorry," Remus says breathlessly. "I should have asked if you were seeing someone before I did that."

"No, not seeing anyone. My romantic prospects have narrowed to single mums at the kiddie park just recently."

"Just single mums?"

"Who else did you have in mind?"

"Werewolves," he offers, a bit hesitantly. "Of the male variety."

Sirius' cocks twitches at that. "Sounds fucking brilliant."

Crossing the distance between them in two strides, Remus places his hands on Sirius' shoulders and jumps up to wrap his legs around Sirius' hips. Sirius holds his legs in place—and really, the boy is too limber for his own good—and fumbles them both towards the wall again.

Just as their lips meet and tongues tangle, a sharp wail sounds from Sirius' room, and Sirius breaks away, defeated. He remains still for a moment, hands still holding Remus up, and wills his heart to stop racing. With another of Harry's cries, Remus slides down, back to his feet, and they stare at one another.

"Sorry, I should—"

"No," Remus interrupts, "I will. You still need that shower and shave."

"Thanks. I, um…he's been having nightmares. There should be a bottle made up in the fridge. He's regressed back to them since…yeah."

Remus nods. "Got it covered."

~*~

With a small slap to his cheek, Sirius stirs. And when his eyes open to find daylight, he nearly jumps out of bed. He blinks rapidly, trying to wake himself up, and next to the bed stands Harry. His small hands are fisted and he's nearly shaking with excitement.

"Moooony here!"

Sirius laughs at Harry's familiar elongation of Remus' nickname, and his godson's happiness as well. He hasn't seen a smile on the little boy's face in a long time. And as his own lips slip into a smile because of it, he realizes that he hasn't smiled in a while as well.

"Is he now?"

Harry nods vigorously and points to the door. "Toas! Toas!"

Sirius grabs Harry under the arms and lifts him into bed, dropping him squarely on a pillow, making Harry giggle.

"Moony's making 'toes' for breakfast?"

Taking one of Harry's small, bare feet into hand, Sirius peppers kisses along Harry's tiny clenching and unclenching toes. Ever ticklish, Harry starts squealing and kicking madly, uncontrollably.

"Moooony! Moooony!" Harry shouts between breathless giggles. "Help!"

Sirius has Harry completely red in the face from laughter before Remus ever reaches the doorway, clad in a pair of boxers and a thin, white tee. Relenting on his godson, Sirius rolls over to get a better look at Remus and can't contain his smile. Gods how he wishes he could wake up every morning to a happy, giggling Harry and a gorgeous, barely dressed Moony.

"He told me you were making 'toes' for breakfast. Just trying to give you a hand with that."

"You're too kind."

Sirius, unsuspecting, is quickly pounced on by Harry, all twenty-five pounds of him landing on Sirius stomach. Sirius gives a miserable _umph_ and rolls Harry off of him. Harry goes in for another pounce, but this time Sirius catches him before he can make it all the way.

"What did you give this monster this morning?" Sirius asks, trying to hold off a very giggley Harry.

"Sugar, in the form of biscuits and a sweet or two. He seems to be enjoying himself."

"You do realize that we can't ship him off after a few hours now, right?"

Remus smiles and joins Sirius on the bed. "Au contraire, _you_ can't ship him off anymore. _I_ , however, most certainly can."

Sirius pouts. "Moony."

"Moooony!" Harry echoes, crawling across Sirius into Remus' arms. "Play block."

"In a minute, love. Why don't you go get started, and I'll be out in a second," Remus suggests, but Harry appears to be thoroughly unconvinced. "You can even eat your toast on Uncle Padfoot's cream-colored carpet that I told him was a mistake to buy. Doesn't that sound like fun?"

Harry seems completely convinced then—getting to eat on the floor rather than the table, he'd be crazy not to—and toddles out of the room for his box of blocks. Sirius, however, doesn't think it sounds nearly as fun as Harry does. He slips an arm around Remus' waist and flips him onto his back.

"Good morning," Remus says, grinning mischievously.

"You're going to Scourgify that carpet before your arse walks out that door," Sirius warns, though he's altogether unthreatening.

"Actually, that's payback for the oatmeal I had to scrub out of Harry's hair this morning. Did you let the boy dump it all over his head or something?"

Sirius sighs. "Trust me, I didn't let him."

Adjusting his position, Remus props himself up on his elbows next to Sirius. Slowly he leans in, their lips brush, and Sirius' insides tighten delightfully. So this isn't some sort of mad dream he had. He and Remus really did find their way back to one another last night.

There's still so much they need to discuss, so much they need to recover from. They're going to have to have the James-and-Lily talk eventually, but perhaps that can happen after they straighten up the flat and themselves. Sirius doesn't think he can have that conversation now, not when the morning has been so nice. He doesn't want to taint this day with tears and sadness for anything.

As Remus breaks from his lips, Sirius stares up into his brown eyes.

"I don't know what I would do without you. And I don't want to find out."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying…I don't know. I'm saying…move in with me again?"

"Don't you think you're moving a little too fast?"

Sirius snorts. "Says he who puts out on the first date."

"That was…I hardly," he stammers, "It wasn't our first date. First formal date, maybe. But certainly not our first, first date."

Sirius thinks for a moment, and says softly, "I still love you, if that counts."

"And I love you too, but, Sirius—"

"Where else are you going to go, huh? You belong here. With us." Sirius takes Remus' hand and kisses his knuckles. "You're Harry's godmum after all."

Sirius pauses there, letting his words sink into Remus. It had been a joke, of course, among the five of them that Remus is Harry's godmum. In reality, he could be no such thing because of Ministry regulations. As much as Remus pretended to hate the title, Sirius knows most of that is for show. Remus loved looking after Harry maybe even more than he ever did.

"We've been over this before, but I'm a mess," he adds. "Every time you come to visit us there will be oatmeal in Harry's hair and I'll have nasty stains on my shirt and the kitchen will be a wreck and—"

With one quick, firm kiss, Sirius is effectively silenced, much to his own pleasure. And before it can escalate to anything more than chaste, they hear loud steps in the corridor, and Harry suddenly reappears in the doorway, looking thoroughly put out.

"Toas!"

Sirius and Remus look at each other and laugh.

"Alright, I'll stay," Remus sighs.


End file.
